Darkest Hour
by SassyAngel05
Summary: After The Telling. Sark faces off with Sydney faster than he expected. Character Death. SS


Title: Darkest Hour 

Author: Vona 

Pairing: S/S 

Disclaimer: Don't own any of them. I wish I did. 

Distribution: Just ask. 

Feedback: I adore it, even constructive criticism. 

Summary: Set after The Telling. Sydney and Sark face off, and Sydney is in for a shock. Character Death. 

AN: Thank you soo much, Ethereal, for betaing this story for me. You made it better! 

**Darkest Hour**

* * *

He hadn't expected to find her so soon. 

Sark turned towards Sydney. They were both in Galway, Ireland, on a lead on Sloane. It was a week since her disappearance. He'd heard from some of his contacts that the long lost Agent Sydney Bristow had been found. 

If only they knew. 

If only she did. 

She must be suffering from amnesia. She would have contacted him otherwise. 

Bloody disc. 

God, Sydney. 

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, enveloped in the warm sweet memory of her beside him on the beach, his hand sliding over her body, smoothing over her scar. Sloane had caused that scar. She'd assumed it was from her fight with Allison and he'd never had the heart to tell her what it was. He felt the softness of her skin, her face above him, her amber eyes sparkling and alive. 

When he reopened his eyes, Sydney had put herself into fighting stance. 

Of course she had. 

He was the enemy. 

"Miss me, Sark?", her voice heavy with sarcasm. 

"More that you'd ever know" came his honest reply. 

He was unaware that her comm link was on and that Dixon and Vaughn were alerted to his presence. He was being careless. It rarely happened, but when it did, it was always with Sydney. She was thrown off by his admission. Previously, he wouldn't have hesitated to take advantage of this. But not now. 

"I'm not going to fight you, Sydney." 

His second mistake. 

He'd called her Sydney, a familiarity in his voice, instead of the cold Agent Bristow. Well, he thought to himself, at least he hadn't called her Love. 

Sydney stepped back, her hands dropping. A hint of confusion flashed across her face, but as any trained agent would, she covered it quickly. But not before he caught the small twinge of bitterness that shone in her eyes. It was coming from the same well inside Sark. That they'd meet like this and she would have no clue. He'd finally had someone to trust, to understand, to love, to fight. But it had been torn away by a little control in Sloane's possession. 

Sydney seemed almost indignant now. 

"I'm not too rusty. I may have been out of the game a while, but I can still fight you." 

"I don't doubt that." 

How little she knew. 

They'd sparred nearly everyday; some days she would win, some days he would. Sydney could not hide her confusion any longer. 

He stepped forward, brushing a strand of chocolate hair behind her ear, and then trailing his fingers down her cheek. 

He couldn't resist it. 

He'd touched her once, he had to do it again. Sydney's hand shot up, grabbing his, pushing it away. Neither noticed Vaughn in the background, behind a corner, nor did either think about Dixon watching everything on comm. 

"What are you doing?!" 

"You really don't remember?" his voice rang with disbelief. 

It had been two wonderful years and it was beyond his comprehension that she could forget it all at the flick of the control. 

"Remember what?" she asked before she could restrain herself. 

Sark's eyes regarded her with interest, sadness, and something else. He stepped towards her, lifting her shirt slightly to reveal a smooth expanse of skin. His hand spread over her abdomen and slid down to her scar. He traced it with three of his fingers softly, caressingly. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, the feel of his hand causing flames across her stomach. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, filling her with an unfamiliar sense of trust. A faraway feeling of a memory floated through her mind, so close, yet not near enough to recall. It was that moment, with Sark standing next to Sydney, his lips hovering above hers, his hands sliding over her stomach, her eyes closed in ecstasy, that Agent Michael Vaughn fired his gun. 

Vaughn smiled as he watched Sark fall, a steady stream of crimson blood flowing from the wound in his chest. Both Sark and Sydney looked shocked as Sark fell to his knees. 

Death was inevitable with his kind of life. 

He should have expected it. 

They always said it came in your darkest hour. 

This would be it. 

He'd almost had Sydney with him again and now the chance was gone. He deserved to die. He'd murdered hundreds of people over his short life, he had lied and spied. He didn't exactly feel remorseful, but he knew he deserved it. At least he'd seen Sydney start to feel again, with the rekindling and surge of power and love and lust between them. 

Sark stared up at Sydney, his blue eyes glazed and icy. A look of surprise and recognition graced her beautiful face, her pale white skin contrasting with the blood sprinkled over her black turtleneck. 

A lone tear descended down her face. 

She pulled his head onto her lap, one hand covering his wound, the other running through his hair. She disregarded the angered look on Vaughn's face, briefly thinking how he was married and how he had no right to be married, before turning toward Sark once again. Nobody understood her reaction. Sark wondered if Sydney even did. He half-smiled before a wave of pain flashed over him. 

"We'll get you some help." 

"It's too late for me." 

Sydney shook her head. "It's not. You're a survivor, you're a fighter." 

"There are some things you can't fight." 

"Why wouldn't you fight me?" 

"You still don't remember." 

She shook her head, resigned. 

"It's almost there, the memory, Sark. It's there, but I can't grasp it." 

"One day you will. Until then, blame Sloane." 

"It's from him." 

Sark knew she spoke of her scar. "Yes." 

"I vaguely remember us before. We were on the beach or something like it. You were almost on top of me and you touched my scar, just like you did before." 

"Yes." 

The pain was overwhelming him, but he wanted to be there, wanted to see her recall the relationship, the last two years. Sydney leaned over, reason unbeknownst to her, and kissed his eyelids and the tip of his nose. He rested against her legs, his body relaxing. 

"Tell me about the scar." 

"I can't." 

"Tell me what I've forgotten. Please... Andrew." 

His first name. She seemed shocked that the word came out of her mouth. 

"You remember that?' 

"Mr. Sark's first name. I've got to be the only one who knows it." 

It was said in an almost joking tone, almost hysterical cry. 

"Please." 

"Lovie, you'll remember someday." 

"Sark." 

She stared into his eyes, refusing to look away. He could do nothing but tell her. 

"We were married in September, three months after your...after you left Los Angeles." 

"We still kept up our jobs, but we had a beach house, in the South of France on the Mediterranean." 

"That's where we were." 

"Yes." Sark gulped, his breath running out. 

"You're beautiful, Lovie, and you're talented. You'll always be better than everybody else. Always." 

"I was in love with you." It was more of a statement than a question. 

"I like to think so." 

Sydney's face softened as she applied more pressure to his wound. 

"I still do." She whispered. 

And that was all he needed to hear. He closed his eyes, taking one last deep breath. Sydney was sobbing, whether it was for the loss of the man she thought she loved or the loss of the man who knew about her missing years, or both, was up for debate. 

Sark squeezed her hand, "No more crying, Sydney", and he was gone. 

Sydney leaned over him, pressing her lips to his mouth. She slowly stood, leaving his body there, bloody and broken and alone. Vaughn made a move towards her, but she pushed him with all the force she could muster. 

"This is your fault! You had absolutely no reason to shoot him! You're no better than he was on assignment!" She screamed before running. 

She ran past Dixon, past the van, and kept running. 

* * *


End file.
